


Brooklyn, Brooklyn Take Me In

by BrooklynBooks



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Davey doesn't respond well to flirting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Swearing, lots of fluff, oh yeah and, the fact that the fandom hasn’t jumped on that Avett Brothers song already is a damn shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:25:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrooklynBooks/pseuds/BrooklynBooks
Summary: Davey's first interaction with a Brooklyn newsie goes badly, but later significantly improves.





	Brooklyn, Brooklyn Take Me In

Davey wasn’t sure how it happened, but Jack Kelly had roped him into taking on Brooklyn. Not to say he was scared, he didn’t know enough about Spot Conlon to be scared, he just didn’t see how bringing along a new kid would help their case. Sure, he’d helped Jack organize the Manhattan newsies, but this was an entirely different borough. What was to stop the King of Brooklyn from taking one look at him and tossing him into the East river?

Jack didn’t seem worried, but Jack sauntered instead of walked, so only heaven knew what actually went on in his head. Les didn’t seem worried either, but Les was also nine and far too buzzed on coffee and the excitement of crossing the Brooklyn bridge for the first time to be worried about anything. That left Davey with the worry, which he decided to keep to himself. Besides, he thought, if they were supposed to take on a giant like Pulitzer, he shouldn’t worry about Spot Conlon.

He had to admit that the bridge, which he’d glanced at from a distance most of his life, was even more impressive up close. The greying wood slats below their feet creaked when people passed, the river roared, and the cables hummed. Five thousand feet of steel and concrete held in the air by a lattice of cables thicker than Davey’s arm. He jumped when he heard a newsie calling out headlines further down the bridge. 

“They can sell on the bridge?” Davey asked.

Jack nodded at the newsie as they passed, who shot a salute back. “Sure,” he said, “It’s neutral territory.”

Once they made it across the bridge, Jack led them down to the docks where troops of kids clamored around, swinging off ropes into the water, playing cards on old pickle barrels, or picking fights among the beams. One kid sat up in the scaffolding with a fiddle and hurtled through an Irish reel. Davey felt the difference immediately, the pressure of eyes suddenly heavy on his back.

As they walked down the pier towards a structure that, for all the world, looked like the skeleton of a pirate ship to Davey, a girl hauled herself out of the water to stand in Jack’s way. She wore pants a size or two smaller than what fit her and an undershirt a size or two larger, all of which clung tight to her as foul East river water streamed off her body. 

“Where ya going, Kelly?” the girl crowed, slicking her dark, dripping hair back and managing to splatter all three boys. Her southern accent stuck out like shattered glass among the dull roar of the Brooklyn docks. 

“Hello, Tex.” Jack forced a polite smile that convinced no one. “Ya mind steppin’ outta the way so’s we can talk to Spot?”

The girl’s smile had playful venom in it; Davey had seen such a smile on Les more than once. She shook her head slowly and crossed her arms, water crashing against the wood at her bare feet. A necklace clung to her skin—not a necklace, Davey realized with a jolt—military dog tags. 

“Sorry, vaquero,” Tex said. “Them’s the rules. Nobody gets to Spot ‘til they get through me.”

Jack sighed and Davey, already wound up tight as a spring, took it as resignation and leapt without looking. 

“We need to talk to Spot. Brooklyn’s gotta join the strike!”

Tex looked at him like he’d spat on her grandmother’s grave and Davey didn’t piece together why until he saw Jack trying to rub the embarrassment out of his eyes. He knew Jack bringing him along was a bad idea. Now he really was going to be tossed into the East river. 

“Look here, Manhattan,” Tex snapped. “Brooklyn ain’t gotta do nothin’. You got a name or somethin’ what gives you the rights to waltz over here and make demands?”

“This is my pal Davey,” Jack slung an arm around Davey’s shoulders. He still didn’t seem worried. “Davey, meet Tex, Spot’s second-in-command.”

“And I’m Les.” Davey’s brother muscled his way through the two boys. “We’ve got our own union. What does Brooklyn got?”

Tex glanced down at Les like the pier had started speaking. Jack had his head in his hands, shaking with silent laughter. Davey glared at him. 

“Well,” Tex said, placing her hands on her hips and looking back up at Davey, “your own union, huh? Little Manhattan here’s got brass, that’s for sure, but it’ll take more than some pretty boy and his kid brother to convince Spot to join up.”

The pier seemed to rock beneath Davey’s feet. He stuttered, “That’s not…”

“Jack Kelly, did you bring me a blusher? You shouldn't've.”

“Tex—”

“How long do you think Brooklyn can hold out?” Davey snapped. If nothing else, it was worth it to see the shocked look on Jack’s face. Someone had to take this seriously. “You may be okay now, but if we let Pulitzer do whatever he wants, he’ll take everything we got. He’ll find out that ten cents more ain’t enough for him and he’ll raise it again. If every newsie doesn’t stand up now and stand together, he’ll pick us apart one by one. This fight only gets worse the longer we wait.”

He didn’t expect her to light up, a smile spreading slow across her face. She leaned forward, close enough for him to smell the sea on her, and whispered hoarsely, “Start with that when ya talk to Spot.” Then she bounced off down the pier, shouting, “Come on, boys!”

Davey stood fixed to the pier staring after her until Jack shook his shoulder. “You did good, Dave,” he said, pulling Davey along. He couldn’t tell if he’d just won an argument or passed a test. 

Unfortunately, Tex’s advice didn’t much help convincing Spot and Davey’s worry only grew. Tex hadn’t said a word during their meeting and now Spot had ordered her to see to it that they left his borough.

“Isn’t there something you can say to him?” Davey stopped before she could lead them any further out of Brooklyn.

Her dog tags almost clipped his nose as she rounded on him. “I’m his lieutenant, not his mother.”

“But you agree with us, don’t you?” Davey insisted. He could have sworn he had convinced her.

“It don’t matter.” She shook her head and, while Davey couldn’t read much beyond the stone in her expression, he thought he saw conflict. “I ain’t the one running Brooklyn. You forget, Brooklyn’s bigger than ya’ll. We’ve got more kids. Spot’s got a hundred odd boys and girls to watch out for, most of them younger than Little Manhattan here, and they ain’t got smart, big brothers like you to keep them safe.”

“But if we stand together—”

“I ain’t saying you’re wrong, I’m saying it ain’t my call. And it’ll take a bit more than you battin’ your pretty brown eyes at me to have me defy Spot.”

Later, Davey would be grateful for Jack dragging him back to Manhattan before he could put together enough words to say something stupid. 

With the chaos and terror of the strike, Davey largely forgot about Tex, until she appeared in Jacobi’s soon after Katherine broke the good news to them. He almost didn’t recognize her with her black hair pinned back under her hat, dog tags hidden under a vest, and without half the East river pouring off of her. He meant to go meet her, but Race beat him to it.

“Oh, if it ain’t the Brooklyn Bitch! This proof enough for ya?” he shouted, pointing to his shiner. Albert smacked him for it, and Davey thought Tex would punch his other eye, but she only pursed her lips.

“Stow your shit, Racer. You got a problem, you take it up with Spot, ya hear? Now, where’s Davey? I need to talk to someone who ain’t got their head squarely up their ass.”

She gasped when her eyes found him. Bruises blossomed under his left eye and jaw, swollen with every ugly shade of the sunset. “Good lord, Davey. Are you alright?” She crossed the room to stand in front of him and reached out to touch his face, but stopped herself just shy of his skin. “Those bastards didn’t get Les, did they?” she asked, stepping back. 

Davey shook his head, finding that he couldn’t look at her directly. Her face had contorted into heartbreak, concern aging her before his eyes, as if it had been her own brother in danger. “No, he’s okay,” he muttered.

“Good.” She nodded and seemed to shrink, drawing into herself. “I heard they took one of your boys to the Refuge.” Her piercing eyes struck Davey like shrapnel as she looked up again. “I’m sorry, Davey.”

“Well, I…” he stammered, trying to get the ground back under him. “It’s, uh… You didn’t come all the way here to check on us, did you?”

“No,” she said, a smile drifting onto her face. “Spot sent me… you got Brooklyn now. Whatever you do next, we’ll be there.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it.” Tex’s smile widened as the other newsies clamored around. 

Davey’s heart soared. He laughed, then picked her up and spun her around. She was still in his arms when he realized what happened. He started to say, “I’m sorry,” but she giggled and wrapped her arms around him. 

She hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, “You give them hell, ya hear me?”

“I hear ya.”

She let him go, giving him one more blinding smile before leaving, and Davey couldn’t help but notice how cold it became without her. He felt like he’d just jumped off a cliff and no one could stop him from falling.

True to their word, Brooklyn arrived at the rally, bringing every borough along with them. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw Tex. She grinned back at him from behind Spot Conlon as they shook hands, a smile brighter than the theatre lights. When Spot spoke, Davey watched her stand quietly beside him, her dog tags shining proudly over her dark red shirt and suspenders. She glanced his way, caught him looking, and shot him a wink. Davey turned away quickly, uncomfortable with the blush creeping up his neck. 

As it became clear that Jack wouldn’t show and Davey had to step out alone, he caught how she silenced the other Brooklyn newsies, effectively silencing the entire hall. He didn’t look at her while he spoke, but he could hear her cheering along with the others and told himself it was her accent that made her voice stand out to him. 

Then Jack appeared and almost started a fight with Spot Conlon, but Tex did something Davey wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. She blocked Spot’s fist, meant for Jack, and hauled him back by his suspenders. Her teeth flashed and she snarled until he agreed to take Brooklyn back across the bridge. Once he left, the other boroughs followed. 

The Manhattan newsies sat dejected for a while in Medda’s theatre, unsure what to do and unwilling to accept defeat. Davey sank so deeply into his own anger and disbelief that he didn’t notice Tex had stayed behind until she sat next to him on the edge of the stage and nudged him.

“Well, you gave ‘em hell, that’s for sure.”

“You wanna criticize someone? Go find Jack.” Davey scowled, crushing his hat in his hands. 

Tex frowned. “I mean it. You got every newsie in New York to show up and cheer you on, that ain’t nothing.”

“So what? The strike’s dead.”

“Says who?”

“Says Jack! You heard him!”

“I also heard a theatre full of pissed off newsies. The world don’t stop for Jack Kelly, the strike doesn’t have to either.”

Davey glanced at her. He thought she’d be furious, but she met him with a level gaze, like the rally hadn’t been a complete disaster. “I don’t know what else we can do,” he said, “Maybe we should just cut our losses.”

She shrugged and began to trace the raised letters on her dog tags with her thumb. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but it’s gotta be your decision.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed violently and turned away from him, staring out into an empty audience. “I mean… you’re gonna be okay, Davey. You’re gonna go to school and show them all how smart you are. They’ll send you to some fancy college, you’ll meet a nice girl, make friends in high places, get a job, change the world. You’re going to be brilliant, Davey, no matter what happens to the strike. There’s nothing wrong with cutting your losses, but… you have to live with what happens. It has to be your choice.”

Davey stared, completely floored, and suddenly dizzy. She spoke with such certainty, as if she’d seen his future in his eyes the day they’d met. No one had ever believed in him so vehemently. 

He sighed, softly, wishing he knew what to say. “Are you really from Texas?” he asked, grimacing slightly with embarrassment. 

She nodded numbly. “Real creative name, isn’t it?”

“It’s better than Davey. That’s just David shortened.”

“Well, David.” She smirked, finally looking up at him, and Davey’s heart leapt. “I guess, they couldn’t shorten Ada anymore.”

“Ada,” he whispered and she nodded, her expression fragile. “Why’d you come here of all places? Jack says everything’s better out west.”

“Yeah, well, he knows jack-all about it. The war destroyed the west, destroyed my family,” she said, holding up her dog tags. 

Before he could speak, Jack Kelly himself surprised them all by bursting back through the theatre doors, Katherine close on his heels.

“Davey! We know how to save the strike!” he shouted, before the newsies could yell at him. 

After Jack explained Katherine’s plan, Davey turned to Ada. “Think we could count on Brooklyn one more time?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

By that morning, the strike had not only been saved, it had been settled. In the crowd of celebrating newsies, Davey searched for Ada and couldn’t find her until she crashed into him. She hugged him, shouting and laughing into his ear, and he held her tight. 

When he pulled back and looked at her, smiling up at him, he knew that she hadn’t seen everything in his future. He leaned down and kissed her, only confident in that he’d regret not trying, utterly surprised when she kissed back. She tasted like ink and smoke and the sea. He jolted when her hands found their way into his hair and held on for dear life. 

They separated, staying close enough to press their foreheads together, but she whispered, “Didn’t I say you’d be brilliant?” 

With her breath on his lips, he kissed her again. He didn’t care that Spot Conlon would probably kill him, in this moment, nothing else mattered but the beautiful girl who’d made him believe again.


End file.
